


Vita et Memoriam

by SkyFireForever



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Gen, High School, Love, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Rebirth, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyFireForever/pseuds/SkyFireForever
Summary: Paris Soares was familiar with life and death. He had lived countless times; had lived countless different lives. He was forced to be reincarnated time and time again. Each time, he was someone new, but he always remembered the lives that came before.All lives, except for his first.Paris is determined to discover why he and his friends alone seem to be forced into this cycle of death and rebirth and he’s determined to put a final end to it.





	1. Chapter 1

The early morning sun was bright as it filtered onto the floor through the simple blinds and curtains that hung from both windows of the moderately-sized bedroom. Asleep in his bed laid a pale body, covered in freckles and clutching a pillow to his chest. A puddle of drool pooled atop the mattress, a line connecting the puddle to the sleeping figure’s lips. He was breathing shallowly, chest rising and falling with each breath. In his dream, he was a young boy who went by the name of Felix Asmr. He was running through a snowstorm, forcing his way through the harsh weather. He was shivering, his hands turning blue from cold. His breath came out in puffs as the ice bit at his skin. He didn’t know if he was going to be able to make it through this alive. He just had to get to shelter. He just had to keep going. He wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, shivering harshly. Just a little further. He had to do this.

Paris awoke with a start, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his eyes snapped open. His gaze shot to his phone, which was playing the default alarm music quite loudly on the bedside table. Paris sighed and reached for it, hitting the snooze button before allowing his head to fall back onto the mattress. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow, thinking back on his dream. He remembered being Felix Asmr many, many years ago. He remembered struggling through the harsh storm, afraid that he wouldn’t make it through alive. It was so much more than just a dream.

Paris Soares had lived many lives before living the life of Paris Soares. He had lived the life of Felix Asmr, struggling to survive on his own after escaping his abusive home; he had lived the life of Esmeralda Lunes, begging on the streets of England in 1623; he had lived as Roni Kobler struggling to find food for her younger brothers in the cold winters of a poverty-stricken land. He had lived many lives across many generations. He had reason to suspect that the life of Paris Soares would be his last.

Before he could linger on his thoughts for too long, his alarm went off again and he lifted his head. He switched the alarm off as he slowly sat up, stretching out his arms to alleviate the stiffness in them. He yawned and just sat in his bed a moment, his mind trying to fuzzily piece together why he had to get up so early. He had already dragged himself to his feet by the time he remembered that it was his first day of senior year. He lit up, both excited and nervous. On one hand, he wasn’t the brightest when it came to academics. He never did particularly well in his classes, unable to concentrate or care about work that he found boring. On the other hand, he was excited to be back with his friends and there was always the chance that he’d meet one of the people he was looking for.

The thing about Paris’ past lives was that he was never the only one with memories of lives lived before. There were always four other people who remembered their past lives, lives lived alongside Paris’ past lives. The five of them were always together and always managed to find each other, no matter who they were. They were always the same people. They had different names, they looked different, came from different places, had different families, but they were always the same people. In this life, Paris had only found one of the people from his past lives, but he was determined to find the others. If he found the others, maybe they could help him figure out how this cycle of reincarnation began and maybe they could help him put an end to it.

Paris sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, stepping towards his closet. He threw on whatever clothes he first laid his eyes on, never being one to put much value into fashion. His sense of style was nonexistent and he didn’t really care if people thought he looked like trash as long as he was comfortable. He went through his routine quickly, washing his face and brushing his teeth before grabbing his backpack and dashing downstairs, skipping several steps at a time until he reached the bottom.

He made his way into the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of dry cereal and shoveling it into his mouth without bothering to sit at the table. He scarfed it down quickly, wanting to leave the house as quickly as possible so he could meet his friend and walk with her to school. He liked arriving at school early so he could study the other students as they walked by him.

“Whoa, slow down there.” A deep voice came from behind him. Paris jumped and glanced up, seeing his father standing in the doorway. He approached his child with a fond smile. “What’s got you in such a hurry?”

“I’m walking with Bibiana to school,” Paris explained with a mouth full of cereal. “Don’t wanna be late.” He swallowed down the cereal and got himself a glass of water.

“Were you even planning on telling your good ol’ dad goodbye?” His father asked, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you’d just leave for your first day of senior year without a word to me?”

Paris quickly shook his head, finishing his water. “No!” He said hurriedly. “Of course not!” He flushed, in his hurry to leave the house, he had completely forgotten about telling his father goodbye. “I wouldn’t do that.” He insisted, dumping the rest of the cereal into his mouth. “I was just eating breakfast first.”

“Ah, I see.” His father made his way to the fridge, pulling it open and grabbing the carton of orange juice. Paris’ father detested coffee, claiming that it was just bitter bean juice for old people. Paris honestly found it to be quite amusing. “So, you didn’t just forget in your excitement for senior year?” He asked.

Paris shook his head. “Nope. That’s not at all what happened.” He laughed nervously as his father poured himself a glass of orange juice. “I would never do that. Never.”

“Hm.” His father’s lips quirked upwards. “Good, because if you forgot about me, I’d be rather upset.” He told him. “I’d think you didn’t care about me.” He said playfully.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t forget, then.” Paris pointed out, placing his dishes in the sink. “So, you don’t have to feel bad.” He smiled, sitting down at the table to put on his shoes.

“Are you excited, though?” His father asked, taking the seat across from him. “This is your last year at high school. Are you leaning more towards the excited side or the nervous side?” He asked, tapping his foot against the kitchen tile.

Paris shrugged. “A little bit of both?” He suggested, tying his shoes. “I think mostly excited, though.” He said after a moment’s hesitation. It was true: Paris was incredibly excited about meeting new people and starting a new year. The fact that it was his last year only added to the mixture of nerves and excitement twisting together in his stomach. It may be his last chance to meet some of the people from his past lives for years to come.

“Excited is good.” His father nodded, smiling at his child. “I’m glad that you’re excited.” He clapped Paris on the back. “You’re going to do great, I’m sure.” He assured him. “You’ll make all sorts of new friends and you’ll do better in your classes this year.”

Paris bit his lip as he was reminded that he barely managed to graduate the previous year. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do better.” He promised, leaning over to give his father a hug. “I should get going.” He said as he pulled away. “I don’t wanna keep Bibiana waiting.” He smiled and gave his father a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you after school.” He stood up and grabbed his bag. “Bye, Dad.”

“Goodbye, son.” His father waved to him as he slipped out the door. He started down the road, making his way to where he was planning on meeting his friend. Bibiana and Paris had known each other since kindergarten, when she had accidentally kicked sand in Paris’ face on the playground. In truth, Paris and Bibiana had known each other for far longer. Bibiana was one of the four who Paris had known throughout all of his lifetimes. He’d recognized her pretty much immediately, when she had called him a “leather armchair” as an insult for getting in her way. Bibiana was always the wild one of the group, not the wildest, but probably close to it. Paris had fondly taken to calling her “Roots” in his head when referring to her and her past lives. She was like the roots of a tree, holding everyone together and reaching out to others for help. Bibiana was the only person Paris could talk to about his past lives, as she had experienced them too. He relied on her for that sense of familiarity.

“Hey, duck feather!” The familiar voice of Bibiana called after him. He turned to see her standing at a stop sign, wearing a huge grin that stretched across her face. It was a habit of hers to try and come up with the most ridiculous nicknames and insults as possible. It had become something of an inside joke between her and Paris ever since their first meeting.

Paris rolled his eyes, trying to think of a clever comeback. “Hey, grape peel.” He said after a long and awkward pause.

Bibiana snorted. “Grape peel? That’s the best you could come up with?” She asked, placing a hand on her hip. “Really?”

Paris flushed. “You put me on the spot!” He complained. “Besides, how is duck feather any better than grape peel?”

“It just is.” Bibiana shrugged, tossing her curls over her shoulder. “The judge has decreed it to be so.”

“And who’s the judge?” Paris questioned, crossing his arms.

“Me, of course.” Bibiana grinned, crossing her own arms to mimic Paris. “I invented the game, so I’m the judge.”

“That feels unfair.” Paris pointed out. “You’re biased.”

“I don’t make the rules.” Bibiana shrugged. “Well, actually, I do, but you don’t need to worry your precious little head about that.” She reached up, standing on her tippy-toes to pat the top of Paris’ head.

Paris rolled his eyes and swatted at Bibiana’s hands. “My precious little head will worry about whatever it pleases.” He stuck his tongue out at his friend. “Right now, it’s worried about how you’re cheating.”

“Hey! I made the rules, so I can’t be cheating!” She insisted with a laugh, stepping behind Paris in an attempt to mess with his hair.

“I vote we get a new judge,” Paris exclaimed, stepping away from Bibiana’s reaching hands. “A fair judge, who isn’t participating in the game.”

Bibiana rolled her eyes. “Not gonna happen, flame head.” She crossed her arms with a smirk. “But you keep dreaming, it’s good for you.”

Paris whined petulantly. “You’re so mean to me.” He complained playfully. “I have no idea why I’m even friends with someone who is so mean.” He teased with a grin.

Bibiana laughed. “And yet, you continue being my friend time after time.” She pointed out. “No matter how many lives we live.”

“That’s true.” Paris agreed with a short nod. “But I want to know how that happened.” He admitted. “I want to know how we met each other the first time.” He explained, thinking back on the group’s entire lack of memory as it concerned their first ever life. The furthest back he could remember was meeting his friends for the second time. He didn’t even remember how he knew that he’d known those people before. It was just a feeling the first time that he could remember. None of the other friends could remember before the second time either.

Bibiana sighed and shrugged. “I don’t see why it matters.” She said, beginning to walk ahead of Paris and towards the school. “We’re together. We were made to be together. Isn’t that what’s important?”

“You aren’t even a little bit curious as to how this all began?” Paris pressed, studying his friend closely. He couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to know the truth behind such a big factor of their lives.

“Not as curious as everyone else always seems to be,” Bibiana admitted, glancing away from Paris’ gaze. “I just don’t think that the “why” and “how” are all that important to me. I just care about being with my friends.”

“You don’t want to put an end to it?” He asked, causing Bibiana to stop in her tracks. He walked up to, looking down at her and trying to tell what she was thinking. There was a long moment of silence before she spoke again.

“I don’t.” She looked up at Paris, pushing her wild curls out of her face. “What we have is a gift, Paris. We have eternal life; eternal life that we get to share with the people we care about. Why would I want to end that?”

Paris shook his head, still not understanding Bibiana’s perspective despite the many times they had discussed it. “Ana, we’ve lived too long, too many times. Just because the five of us find each other each time - that doesn’t mean it isn’t lonely.” He tried to get that across to her. “We can’t be honest with anyone else because no one would ever believe us. We exist outside of everyone else. We can’t get close to anyone else because we’ll just lose them. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Bibiana sighed deeply, glancing towards the ground. “It doesn’t bother me because I have you. I have you and the others each and every life. I’m never truly alone.”

“I guess.” Paris decided to end the conversation there, not wanting to spoil the happy atmosphere they’d had earlier. He continued walking and Bibiana followed shortly after. They walked together in an uneasy silence for a while before Paris decided to break it. “Excited about senior year?”

Bibiana glanced up at her friend and offered him a strained smile. “I am. I’m honestly going to miss high school, though.” She sighed wistfully.

“Really?” Paris rose an eyebrow. “Most kids can’t wait to get out of school.”

“It’s harder to meet people outside of school.” Bibiana shrugged. “Harder to make friends.”

Paris nodded in understanding, looking up as the school building came into view. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“We haven’t found any of the others yet,” Bibiana said quietly. “If we’re going to meet them anytime soon, this year may be our last chance.” She sighed, tossing her long hair behind her.

Paris knew that she was right; it was a thought that he’d had before. “That’s true.” He agreed. “Maybe we’ll meet at least someone this year.” He glanced down at her. “Who’s your homeroom?”

“Mrs. Mell.” She groaned and rolled her eyes. “I had her for biology a few years ago.” She looked up at Paris. “You’re taking biology this year, right? You’ll probably have her.”

Paris nodded, taking his schedule out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I have Mr. Valear for homeroom. He’s the English teacher, right? I’ve heard good things about him.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that he’s great.” Bibiana nodded. “I should get going to my homeroom, but good luck!” She waved to her friend before leaving down the hallway.

Paris waved back as he started towards his own homeroom. He climbed up the three flights of stairs to the top floor of the main building. He walked past each numbered door, searching for the right one. He found the right door, a sign reading “Mr. Valear’s Class” hanging on the door made out of construction paper. Paris grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door open. 


	2. Chapter 2

Paris stepped into the classroom, glancing around at all the inspirational posters that hung from wall to wall. Apart from a few pieces artwork made by his students framed around the room, Mr. Valear’s class wasn’t too original in appearance. There were desks organized into neat rows where students were sitting and chattering away to one another. Paris scanned the space for an open seat, spying one at the very front. He started towards it, taking his seat and searching for any signs of new students. If Paris was going to meet someone from his past, chances were that they were going to be new.

That wasn’t always the case; however. It had happened on occasion that Paris had known someone for years without it clicking for him that the person was one of his friends from his past lives. Sometimes it took getting to know someone better for him to recognize them, which was why Paris took every opportunity to befriend as many people as possible.

He looked up as another student took the seat next to him. He recognized her from previous years as Aiki Shakya. She had shared a few classes with Paris over the years, but he wasn’t very familiar with her. They had spoken on occasion, but he wouldn’t consider them to be close. She was the type of person who didn’t really speak unless spoken to, but the few conversations they had shared were pleasant enough. She was quiet in most of her classes, usually staring off into space or doodling silently. She seemed to be a nice enough girl as far as Paris was aware.

“Hi, Aiki.” He turned to greet her, making an attempt at conversation. “How was your summer?” He asked in a friendly manner.

Aiki gave a tiny shrug, looking rather awkward. “It was alright.” She responded, her voice naturally rather soft and gentle. Paris liked how unique her voice was, but that would probably be an odd thing to say. “How was yours?” She asked in return.

“It was good!” Paris said, drumming his fingers against his leg. He could feel the slight awkward edge to the conversation. Awkwardness usually came when Paris tried to speak to fill silence, but he was too awkward to stop talking once he started. “It was a bit boring, having nothing to do all the time,” He admitted. “But it wasn’t bad!” He spoke over himself in a hurry to get his words out. He always spoke more quickly when he sensed awkwardness, which usually only made things more awkward.

Aiki smiled politely, shifting her weight in her chair. “I understand that.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ear. “Summer can get pretty boring at times.” She agreed. “Especially when you don’t go anywhere exciting.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Paris nodded in agreement. “You get it.” He grinned at her, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “How did you entertain yourself?”

Aiki shrugged, her cheeks slightly pink. “Nothing, really. I just sort of waited for the time to pass by.” She admitted shyly, her hair slipping out from behind her ear. She chewed on the eraser of the mechanical pencil she was holding.

“I can understand that.” Paris nodded, feeling how awkward the conversation was becoming. Thankfully, he was saved by Mr. Valear taking his place at the front of the classroom and clearing his throat.

Mr. Valear was an aging man, but he had a youthful look about his face. He was muscular, yet soft, his beard carrying wisps of gray mixed with the dark black of the rest of it. He cleared his throat again when the students continued their conversations without paying much attention to him. When it finally began to quiet down, he spoke. “Hello, and welcome to your first day back to school. I know you’re all very excited about having to wake up early and do mountains of homework each day. I’m sure you all missed that.” A few students laughed, but most groaned or remained silent. “Now, in all seriousness, I know that you want to tell your friends how exciting your summers were, but there will be time for that later. First, we must take the roll.” He pulled up the list of names on his computer. “If you go by a different name, please correct me and I’d appreciate people giving me their pronouns.” He told the class. “Sanchez, Isabella?”

“Here.” A girl who Paris had never seen before rose her hand. “I usually go by Bella, but Isabella is fine. Oh, and she/her.”

Mr. Valear nodded, studying the girl. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you new?”

“Yes, sir.” The girl nodded. “This is my first year here.”

“I see. Welcome.” Mr. Valear offered her a bright and friendly smile. “I hope you enjoy your time here.” He looked back at the roll. “Sanders, Astrid?”

“Present!” A girl with light brown hair and glasses that looked too big on her rose her hand. “She/her.”

“Sanders, Celine?”

“Here. Pronouns are whatever.” A person sitting in the back shrugged, looking unbothered.

“Any relation between our two Sanders?” Mr. Valear asked, looking between the two of them.

Astrid glanced at Celine before shaking her head. “Not that I know of.” She shrugged. “Just a coincidence, probably.”

“I see.” Mr. Valear turned his attention back to his computer screen. “Sapion, Todd?”

“Right, here.” Todd rose his hand. He was one of the more popular boys in school and he was kind of a jerk from what Paris could tell. He’d never actually had a conversation with him, but he’d heard of some of the things the boy had said to others. “My pronouns are it.” Todd snickered to himself, thinking that his little joke was hilarious.

Mr. Valear’s expression soured and he glared at Todd. “Are they really?” He stood up from his desk and walked slowly towards the desk where Todd was sitting. “You use it/its pronouns?” He rose an eyebrow at him. “If so, I shall respect that, but that is what I will be using to refer to you until you tell me otherwise. Is that clear?” His voice was suddenly less cheerful and friendly.

Todd slumped in his chair and rolled his eyes. “Obviously I’m not an it.” He muttered. “I’m just pointing out how stupid it is that people-”

“If you have a problem with who people are, I recommend keeping it to yourself, Sapion.” Mr. Valear said coldly. “If you make a comment like that again, you will face disciplinary action.” He warned before returning to his desk without another word. In that moment, Paris decided that he liked this teacher. “That goes for anyone else as well.” He announced to the class. He sat back in his chair and cleared his throat. “Shakya, Aiki?” He looked around the room. Aiki rose her hand without a word and Mr. Valear seemed to respect that, nodding in her direction. “Soares, Paris?”

“Here!” Paris shot his hand into the air. “Any pronouns are totally fine.” He said with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. Mr. Valear chuckled, seemingly amused by Paris’ hyperactivity. He continued going down the list until he reached the last name.

“Valear, Rosa.” He looked up with a smile, only to be met with silence. Paris turned around and saw Rosa sitting in one of the desks in the very back. He hadn’t even known that she shared a homeroom with him. Rosa was an exciting girl, who always had a thirst for adventure. She and Paris got along quite well and Paris wouldn’t think twice about counting her as one of his friends. She wasn’t one of his friends from past lives, but she was still someone he trusted and enjoyed spending time with. “Valear, Rosa.” Mr. Valear repeated.

“Papa.” Rosa rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on the corner of her lips. Paris had almost forgotten that Rosa was Mr. Valear’s daughter. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, rolling her eyes again.

“Sorry, I can’t hear the voice of an absent student.” Mr. Valear insisted, not even looking at his daughter. A few students laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the teacher’s joke.

Rosa huffed, but she couldn’t fight the smile that spread across her face. “Rosa Valear is here.” She groaned, putting her hand in the air reluctantly. “She/her.” She flipped her long, wavy hair over her shoulder.

“Alright, thank you.” Mr. Valear leaned back in his chair. “Alright, that’s all I need from you in homeroom. You’re free to talk amongst yourselves until the bell.”

The chattering resumed as soon as the words left his lips, filling the room with mindless background noise. Paris glanced behind himself at Rosa, waving to his friend, who waved back. She stood up and made her way towards him, taking a seat at the desk behind him.

“Heya, Pair-Bear.” She greeted with a wide grin. “How was your summer?” She asked, crossing her arms over the desk. “Anything exciting happen?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him playfully.

Paris laughed and shook his head. “Unfortunately not. It was all rather boring if you ask me.” He admitted, smiling back at his friend. “I missed you.” He told her honestly. Even if she wasn’t one of his friends from his past, she was still someone he cared about.

“Aw, how romantic.” Rosa laughed, winking at Paris. “I never knew you felt that way.” She teased, reaching over to ruffle Paris’ ginger hair. “I missed you too, my freckled friend.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Hey, not the hair!” He whined, swatting at her hands. “My hair is a gift from the gods!”

Rosa rolled her eyes. “It is not. It doesn’t even look like you brushed it.” She chastised, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

“It’s just naturally messy!” Paris protested, scowling playfully at Rosa. “It’s not my fault!” He whined.

Rosa laughed and gave up on messing with Paris’ hair. “Sure it is.” She said sarcastically, grinning over at her friend. “So, what’s your first class? Maybe we’ll have class together.”

Paris retrieved his schedule, smoothing out the wrinkles against the desk. “Uh,” He looked over the sheet of paper to check. He glanced at the first block listed on the schedule. “Art.” He told her, looking up. “What about you?”

“Not art.” Rosa shrugged, gathering her things as the bell rang to dismiss everyone to first block. “Oh, well.” She threw her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Paris.” She waved to him as she made her way towards the door.

“Yeah, see you!” He waved after her, watching her back disappear out the door. He smiled to himself, glad to be back at a place where he was surrounded by people who he cared about and who cared about him. It was nice to have friends, even though he knew that he would lose them eventually. He couldn’t be friends with them for long, he’d eventually have to let them go so he wouldn’t miss them as much when he was reborn into his next life without them.

He spent his journey to the art classroom thinking about Rosa, about how bright and free-spirited and unapologetic she was. He remembered when he had first met her and how desperately he had hoped that she was one of his old friends from his past lives and how disappointed he was when he finally realized that she wasn’t. He’d thought that she might be the one he referred to in his head as “Bloom”, the one who represented kindness and goodness, who always saw the beauty in everything and every life. Or maybe “Branch”, who was always reaching out to do as much as they could to impact the world. He could even hope that she was “Leaf”, who absorbed knowledge and affection like they were made to do so. Eventually, it became clear that she had no memories apart from the memories of Rosa Valear, so she wasn’t one of his old friends. That thought made Paris almost depressed. He enjoyed her company so much and he loved spending time with her. He didn’t want to lose her.

Paris opened the door to the art room, a small and cramped space that smelled distinctly of mildew. The art building of the school wasn’t very well cared for and parts of it seemed to be in danger of falling apart. The school tended to funnel money away from the arts department and the evidence of it was clear. Paris sighed and took a seat at one of the tables, placing his bag on the floor beside him. He pulled out his sketchbook and set it on the surface in front of him. He glanced towards the teacher, who was sitting with his arms crossed. He looked rather like a boiled egg, with his bald head and grumpy face. Paris smiled to himself and started doodling an image of the teacher with an egg to replace his head, thinking that it was quite amusing.

Students began to file in and take their seats at the tables of the art room, laughing and chatting excitedly with one another. The teacher’s expression seemed to sour more with each addition to the class. Paris finished up his doodle just as the late bell rang, resting his chin against the palm of his hand. He waited for the teacher to give instructions, but just as the man rose from his seat, two students walked into the class.

The first student was noticeably large both in width and height, his massive frame seeming almost unable to fit through the door. His dark hair was tangled and greasy, his face oddly misshapen. His nose seemed crooked and much too large for his face. One large arm was wrapped around the second student, a tall, thin individual with strawberry blonde hair that poured down their back in waves. The second student was giggling happily, leaning against the chest of the larger student. Paris had seen the second student before around school, but he’d never spoken to them and he didn’t know their name. He’d never seen the first student before.

“You’re late.” The teacher sneered as the students entered the room, his eyes narrowing at both of them.

The first student rolled his eyes, much to Paris’ surprise. “By like a second.” He pointed out, seemingly unbothered by the teacher’s obviously harsh tone. He pulled the other student to the table where Paris was sitting, pulling out the stool in front of him and taking a seat. The second student took a seat in his lap, wrapping their slender arms around his thick neck.

The teacher fixed his students with a look of pure disgust. “I will let you off the hook only because it is the first day.” He told them, glaring at both of them. “Do not let it happen again.” He warned.

The first student snorted, waving the teacher off. “Yeah, whatever.” He pulled the person on his lap closer to him, playing with their hair.

Paris stared at the two of them, surprised to see them act so disrespectfully towards a teacher. The teacher also seemed quite shocked by this, his face red with anger. The two students seemed completely oblivious to the teacher’s frustration, the smaller student moving their hands rapidly in the direction of the other. It took Paris a moment to realize that they must be communicating in sign language, judging by the rapid hand signals and the presence of what he now recognized to be hearing aids in the ears of the second student.

“Well, now that hopefully everyone is present,” The teacher took another moment to cast a glare at the rude students. “I shall take roll.” He grumbled as he pulled up the attendance on his computer. “Baccus, Nikolus?”

“That’s me.” The first student rose a chubby hand into the air without even looking at the teacher. He didn’t seem interested in the teacher whatsoever, never tearing his gaze from the person sitting on top of him.

The teacher ignored him and moved on. “Boothe, Johnathon?”

“It’s Jan.” The student in Nikolus’ lap rose their hand with a bright smile. “Jan Boothe, if you’d please.” They rested their head against Nikolus’ shoulder.

The teacher muttered something under his breath about kids these days before continuing to take the roll. Paris was distracted when Jan turned their attention to him.

“Hello!” They greeted, a bright and charming smile on their face. “I’m sorry about that.” They were a very animated person, moving their arms wildly with each word they said. “We were just late because I wanted to show Nik around.” They explained, voice louder than it probably should have been. “He’s new here.” They looked over at Nikolus with a fond smile.

Paris shrugged and offered them an awkward smile. “It’s alright. You weren’t that late. We haven’t started anything yet.” He assured them.

“I told you that you didn’t have anything to worry about.” Nikolus pulled playfully at the bottom of Jan’s shirt. “Nobody cares if we’re late.”

Jan slapped Nik’s hand away lightly and shook their head. “It costs nothing to be polite, Nikolus.” They chastised, but didn’t stop smiling. “If you do something wrong, you apologize for it.”

“But we didn’t do anything wrong.” Nikolus rolled his eyes.

“We arrived late for class.” Jan pointed out. “We might have pulled our new friend from his thoughts. Even if we did not, we might have. It is always safer to apologize.”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay, goody-two-shoes,” He complained, but his tone was teasing. “Always on my case about silly ol’ manners.”

“You love me.” They insisted, leaning down to kiss the tip of Nikolus’ nose.

“Yeah, I do.” He confirmed, pulling Jan closer to place a kiss on their cheek.

Paris watched the couple, unable to help thinking about how cute they were together. They clearly loved each other a great deal. He was so focused on the two of them that he completely missed his name being called the first two times. It wasn’t until the third time that the teacher called his name that he looked up. “Huh? Oh, here!” His ears went pink and he quickly looked away. The teacher grumbled something in frustration before continuing down the roll.

“Paris?” Jan looked at him, their attention finally returning to him. “That’s such a pretty name.”

“Thank you.” Paris flushed. “I think Jan is a pretty name too.” He complimented.

“Thank you!” Jan beamed, leaning against Nikolus. “I picked it myself.” They said proudly, twirling a strand of hair around their finger.

Paris nodded. “Of course. You don’t need to thank me for that.” He assured them. He looked between the two of them. “So, how long have you been together?” He asked curiously.

Jan smiled warmly, turning to face Nikolus. “A year and a half.” They said with so much joy in their voice.

“Oh, congratulations.” Paris smiled, genuinely happy for the two of them. “How did the two of you meet?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

Jan’s demeanor suddenly changed somewhat. They looked away, seemingly embarrassed and nervous, almost anxious. “Well,” They began slowly, tucking a long strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind their ear. “We met online, actually.” They admitted sheepishly, before hurrying into their next sentence. “I know that sounds bad.” They flushed darkly. “But it’s the truth.” They turned to face Nikolus, gazing into his eyes. “We met on this art blog and just sort of,” They paused. “Clicked.” They smiled warmly and lovingly at their boyfriend. “I know that you’re not supposed to date people you meet online, but it worked for us.” They took Nikolus’ hand in their own.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s bad at all.” Paris said quickly. “The internet is a great place to meet people who you wouldn’t have met otherwise.” He admitted. “As long as you use it safely, anyway.”

Jan lit up with a bright smile. “Oh, I’m glad you think so! Some people are less accepting of online romances, especially because we are both underaged.”

“A lot of people are stupid.” Nikolus muttered, quietly enough for Jan not to hear.

Paris shrugged a bit. “Well, I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Good.” A smile spread across Jan’s face as they looked Paris up and down. “I like you.” They decided after a moment. “You’re very nice.”

“Oh.” Paris blushed, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Well, I’m glad.” He replied awkwardly. “I like you too.”

“You are very cute when you blush.” Jan giggled, reaching across the table to press a finger to the tip of Paris’ nose, causing him to blush further.

“Oh, well-” Paris was saved from having to respond by the teacher standing up and addressing the class.

“Alright, class. Listen up.” Paris turned his attention towards the teacher, thankful for the save from his own awkwardness. “My name is Mr. Finth. I am your art teacher for the next school year.” The man gave the room a once-over. “As you can tell, the art department doesn’t get much funding, which is why you’re stuck with me.” He sighed heavily, clearly hating the class he had gotten stuck with. “Now, considering that it the first day and none of you would even listen if I did give you instructions, I’ll just be handing out your syllabus with the class rules and course materials on it. The rest of the block can be spent doing whatever it is you people do.”

Paris frowned at the hostility coming from the teacher. He didn’t understand why someone would choose to go into a profession that they so clearly despised. He accepted the syllabus once it was handed to him, looking over it and reading the long list of rules.

“Isn’t this supposed to be an art class?” Nikolus muttered as his eyes scanned the list. “How many rules are needed apart from “don’t be an asshole”?”

“I agree.” Jan nodded, reading over the rules for themself. “Creative classes like art should have at least some degree of freedom.”

“To be fair, he’s giving us the freedom to do whatever we want today.” Paris felt the need to defend the teacher to some degree. “And he hasn’t enforced any of these rules so far.” He pointed out. “He doesn’t seem the type to actually enforce any rules.”

“That’s no better!” Jan insisted, seeming to be legitimately upset by this. “We need at least some instruction or nothing will get done!” They appeared distressed. “It’s his job to teach. Why wouldn’t he do his job?”

Nikolus sighed and held Jan closer. “Because people hate working.” He told them flatly. “This guy only showed up for the paycheck.”

“That isn’t fair to the students who want to work and learn!” Jan’s voice was becoming more shrill and increasing in volume.

Nikolus quickly shushed them and lowered his own voice for Jan to copy. “I know, baby. I know it isn’t fair, but that’s the way the world works sometimes.”

“It shouldn’t work that way.” Jan huffed, crossing their arms but lowering their voice.

“I know.” Nikolus kissed the top of their head. “I know, darlin’.” He rubbed their back. “Maybe he’s just in a bad mood and he’ll get better.”

Jan nodded, seemingly calmed a bit by that. “I hope so.” They settled back in their boyfriend’s lap. “Well, if the teacher won’t assign us something, I will.” They decided, pulling their sketchbook out of their bag. They retrieved a pouch of art supplies and set it beside the sketchbook on the table. “Draw something that reminds you of you.”

“Huh?” Paris tilted his head in confusion at the instructions.

“Draw something that reminds you of you.” Jan repeated. “Not a self-portrait or anything like that. Just something that when you look at it, you see yourself.” They explained, flipping to an empty page of their sketchbook. “It doesn’t even have to be an actual picture of something. It can just be random scribbles of color on a page if that reminds you of yourself.”

“Oh.” Paris nodded, understanding the prompt a bit more now. “Alright, I can do that.”

“Good!” Jan beamed before setting to work on their own drawing. Nikolus was scribbling away at the page opposite the one Jan was drawing on. Paris watched them for a moment before staring down at a page of his sketchbook. He considered for a moment before he began drawing. Time passed in relative silence between the three of them, just the background noises of other students and the sound of pencils on paper existed to distract them. Paris didn’t recognize that any time at all had passed until the bell rang. He looked up with a start as everyone began to gather their things.

Nikolus poked Jan lightly, as they didn’t seem to have heard the bell. “It’s time to go.” He told them.

Jan glanced up in surprise and stared at the other students who were leaving. “Oh, I suppose it is.” They began to put away their own supplies. “Before we go, I want to see what you drew!” They exclaimed, peering over at Paris’ drawing.

Paris had spent his time drawing a tree. A simple tree, but an important one to him. Each part of the tree represented one of his friends from his past lives. There were the roots burrowing deep into the earth to represent Roots, who he had come to learn was Bibiana. There were the stretching branches to represent Branch, the leaves basking in the sun to represent Leaf, and scattered about were flowers to represent Bloom. Paris himself represented the bark of the tree, or so he had been told. He saw himself as only one part of a whole, the whole tree that represented him and his friends. They were destined to be together over and over again. Paris hoped that he wouldn’t be expected to explain it.

“That’s cute.” Nikolus noted, holding up his own drawing. Across the page were a bunch of jagged zig-zags and scribbles, all of them in black and not forming any particular whole picture, save for a singular pink heart in the middle. Paris blinked, not entirely sure what it was supposed to represent.

“It’s nice.” Paris vaguely complimented, glancing back at Jan, who was staring at Paris’ picture still. “What did you draw?” He asked them.

“Hm? Oh!” Jan slid their sketchbook over to Paris, who stopped in his tracks. They ripped out the page and handed it to Paris. “You can keep it.” They told him before grabbing their things and making their way out the door. Paris held onto the page, hands trembling as he gazed at it.

Drawn across the page was a single flower, beautifully drawn and colored. It was newly in bloom. It was the same flower that Paris had drawn on his tree to represent Bloom.

 


End file.
